His uncle was far from being aware how far matters had gone with his nephew in this matter.  But he knew enough to make him uneasy about it, and to lead him to endeavour to push on the match with the Contessa Violante by every means in his power:  for the marriage with the Lady Violante was, in every point of view, a desirable one.  The Cardinal Legate of Ravenna was a Marliani, and the young lady in question was his great-niece—­the granddaughter of his only brother.  She had lost both her parents at an early age, and now lived at Ravenna with a great-aunt,—­the younger sister of the Cardinal, under his protection and wing, as it were.  The family was not a rich one, but the Cardinal had worn the purple many years.  He had held very lucrative offices in the Apostolic Court previously, and had doubtless amassed very considerable wealth, and the Lady Violante was his only heiress.  Besides that, of course the position of her great-uncle as Legate rendered her all that was desirable as a match for the noblest of the province—­not to mention other grander possibilities in the background.  The reigning Pontiff was a very aged man.  The Cardinal di Marliani was thought to stand very well at Rome.  Who knew what might happen?  It would have been too monstrous if the hope of such a marriage as this were to be endangered by a silly fancy for the pretty face and slim figure of a little artist.

The Marchese Lamberto had felt his position to be a difficult one.  He really did not know what line it would be wisest to take.  Ludovico had spoken among his associates at the Circolo in a manner which had effectually silenced all light allusion to the ladies in the Strada di Santa Eufemia.  He could not speak exactly in the same tone to his uncle; but the hints that the Marchese Lamberto had from time to time thrown out to the effect that, under the circumstances of the case, he did not approve of his nephew’s intimacy with the Signorina, Paolina Foscarelli, had been received in a manner by the younger man which had warned the elder that some caution was required in the task of guiding his nephew in this matter.  He had never had much cause to be dissatisfied with his nephew’s conduct, or with his behaviour towards himself:  but some years before the present time, he had been made aware that the Marchese Ludovico was one of those whom it is easier to lead than to drive; and that any attempt at a little too much driving would be likely to lead to kicking, and perhaps to an entire breaking of reins and traces.

And, being a man of sense, he had acted on the hints thus given him with considerable success.  The Marchese Ludovico had submitted on most occasions to be led with all desirable docility.  But now, in this matter, wherein judicious leading was more than ever before in his life necessary to him, he seemed to decline to be led at all.

How could the perplexed Marchese do otherwise than frown when he was told that his nephew was not at the Circolo at that hour of the evening, knowing very well where such absence showed him to be?  Yet he probably would have done, or attempted to do, some thing else,—­ or, at all events, the frown would have been a yet heavier and blacker one,—­could he not only have guessed where his nephew was at that moment, but have also heard what was passing in the little salottino of the Strada di S. Eufemia.